


Conversations with a Therapist

by jane_x80



Series: Couples Therapy [3]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_x80/pseuds/jane_x80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Brenner, the therapist who treats the undercover Gibbs and DiNozzo in Couples Therapy, needs to speak to them. He is having serious issues at being fooled by Gibbs and Tony and needs to talk things out with the two men. Takes place after Gerald Stowe's trial is concluded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I keep thinking if I was Brenner, it would seriously bug me that not only did I hire someone who eventually became a serial killer, but that I was completely and utterly fooled by a couple attending a therapy session. So this is how I imagine Brenner would try to fix, and understand the situation.

The day after Gerald Stowe was sentenced, Frank Brenner finds himself at the Navy Yard, attempting to see either Special Agent Gibbs or Special Agent DiNozzo. He had sat through Stowe’s entire trial, and sentencing, and heard everyone’s testimonies, including the two NCIS agents that had gone undercover as bait, and attended couples therapy as his patients.

Agent Gibbs had been terse and to the point, the epitome of the no-nonsense Marine that he had been, despite the nice suit that he wore for court. Agent DiNozzo had been open and charming, albeit completely professional and competent on the stand. His polished personality matched his equally polished designer shoes and designer suit. He looks like a man who places great emphasis on his clothes, Brenner thought, watching as DiNozzo reflexively straightens his tie and his jacket after crossing his legs on the stand.

Brenner found himself paying extra close attention to the testimonies of these two men, who had – at least it seemed to him – laid themselves bare in front of him. But it had all been a lie. From what they were saying during the trial, it had all been their cover. Neither man was actually in a relationship with the other, except for being professional partners for the past fifteen years. He watched their body language very carefully, not just on the stand but also when they were seated in the courtroom together, watching parts of the trial. He could not see the connection that he thought he had clearly seen when the two men had been in his office for counseling. They had a camaraderie, more like a brotherhood in arms rather than men in love with each other.

It bothered him. It was bad enough that he had hired someone who turned out to be a serial killer, and had killed his own patients. But at least Stowe had gone off his meds and had actually not been deranged at the time he had been hired.

But then to be so easily fooled by a couple who weren’t even an actual couple attending counseling sessions with him? It bothered him that he had misread the two men so thoroughly. He was supposed to be good at reading people, good at understanding how to help them, and these two men had been able to completely dupe him about not only the nature of the problems that they were having, but apparently the entire nature of their relationship with each other. So, Frank Brenner needed to speak to at least one of them, better if he could have a conversation with both men at the same time, in order to see for himself how good they were at acting, at pretending, at pulling the wool over his eyes so completely.

His self-doubt is affecting him, affecting how he did his job, and affecting his interactions with his patients. He knows that he has to confront this and understand it in order to get past it.

Finally, security is able to get a hold of Agent Gibbs and Brenner is escorted up to a large, orange-walled room with huge windows and a high ceiling, the orange paint made glaringly bright with sunlight streaming through the huge skylight. Security guides him to a desk where Agent Gibbs is sitting, reading glasses perched almost daintily on his nose, as he flips through documents in a file folder.

He looks up, nods curtly to the security guard, who slips away quietly.

“Dr Brenner,” Gibbs stands and holds his hand out.

“Special Agent Gibbs,” Brenner accepts the man’s hand and they shake, a firm, no-nonsense handshake.

Gibbs flips his glasses onto the desk impatiently, his blue eyes intense. “What can I do for you, Dr Brenner?”

“Special Agent Gibbs…”

“Just Gibbs,” Gibbs interrupts him, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Gibbs, I was hoping that perhaps I could speak to you and to Special Agent DiNozzo?”

Gibbs frowns. “About Stowe? Trial and sentencing is over. Nothing left for us to talk about.”

“No, no. You misunderstand me. I’d like to talk to you both about – well – about you. And the therapy sessions?”

“DiNozzo!” Gibbs’ bark makes Brenner jump. The blue-eyed stare is turned upwards, and Brenner follows to look up in the same direction.

“Yeah, Boss?” comes DiNozzo’s casual response.

“Quit flirting and get down here,” Gibbs says.

“Coming, Boss,” Brenner watches as DiNozzo breaks off a conversation with what looks to be a beautiful woman and comes sprinting down the stairs at a dangerous pace. He rounds the corner into the bullpen and almost skids to a halt when he sees Brenner.

“Dr Brenner!” the smile lights up his handsome face, and his large green eyes sparkle with an exuberance and light that Brenner does not remember DiPietro having. In fact, there is a sheer physicality to DiNozzo that he does not remember DiPietro having, which is more than a little disturbing, given that they are one and the same man. Aren’t they? DiNozzo does not have the same feel, for some reason, as DiPietro, even though they have the same face. DiNozzo has on what looked to be a very expensive designer suit that looked tailored to his form, a little out of place for a federal agent. While DiPietro had always been snappily dressed, he had never presented himself quite as confidently as DiNozzo does now. “Hey! What are you doing here?” DiNozzo asks him.

“Brenner wants a conversation,” Gibbs says in his concise, clipped tone, so different from the caring, concerned husband that he had played in therapy.

“Oh, sure,” DiNozzo nods and smiles, one eyebrow raised. “What about? I thought the Stowe case is over?”

“Not about the case,” Gibbs sounds impatient. “About our therapy?”

DiNozzo looks surprised. “Uh, the therapy? The, uh, undercover therapy?” he repeats.

“Yep. That one.”

Brenner finds two sets of eyes on him now, Gibbs’ icy blue gaze is hooded and unreadable, while DiNozzo’s clear green eyes are curious. Before they can continue, two more agents enter the bullpen, arguing about something or other, one a tall man – he had testified too, Brenner remembers, although he does not remember the man’s name, but he had been their computer specialist. The other is a little blond woman, who had also been part of the Stowe case. Brenner does not recall her name either. In truth he had been more than a little obsessed by the two agents who had completely fooled him in therapy.

“Tony, you need to settle this for us,” the man demands as he throws his gun and badge into a drawer, obviously in a snit.

“Probies, behave yourselves,” DiNozzo’s soft voice makes the newcomers pay attention. “We have a visitor.”

“Oh, hello Dr Brenner,” the woman greets him cordially, as she opens a drawer and carefully puts away her gun and badge.

“Coffee,” Gibbs tells DiNozzo, who nods and turns to grab his badge and weapon from his desk drawer. Gibbs inclines his head to Brenner, an invitation to follow. “Back in ten,” he tells the two newcomers. “I want to see your reports when I get back. DiNozzo, with me.” Gibbs stalks to the elevator.

Brenner watches as DiNozzo falls into step, a half-step behind Gibbs, slightly to his right. The way the two men move in perfect synchrony makes it obvious that this is their customary position and Brenner is suddenly even more aware that DiNozzo is not DiPietro. Gibbs had been unable to hide his Marine-ness, as Phipps, but DiPietro had seemed harmless enough, a soft civilian. DiNozzo, however, walks with an awareness of his surroundings, and a lightly veiled readiness to pounce, an air of coiled danger. Brenner sees that he assumes this mantle as he falls in step with Gibbs in order to protect the man in front of him.

He finds himself trotting after both men. He is led outside the building to a coffee cart where the barista works on their orders without either man actually ordering, telling Brenner that obviously both men are regulars at this coffee cart. Gibbs looks questioningly at him, and he finds himself telling the barista his coffee preference. DiNozzo hands cash over and drops the change, all the coins and all the notes, in the tip jar without even looking at it.

When they each have their coffees, Gibbs leads them to a bench. Brenner watches as the men seat themselves on either side of him. There is a level of non-verbal communication between them that he finds fascinating.

“You know we were undercover, right?” DiNozzo opens without preamble. “Dr Brenner, I’m terribly sorry but we did have to deceive you. We were in pursuit of a serial killer.”

Brenner sighs. “I do understand that. I’m just having a little trouble right now.”

“Trouble with what?” Gibbs asks.

Brenner frowns, unsure how to explain his feelings of insecurity.

DiNozzo nods understandingly. “Let me guess,” he says carefully, “we convinced you that we were a couple who needed help with our relationship, and now you’re questioning your ability to read and judge people?”

Brenner shrugs, and nods unhappily.

Gibbs sighs and stares at DiNozzo. Brenner watches, fascinated, as DiNozzo nods thoughtfully, his lips pursed, and Gibbs raises an eyebrow in response. Brenner senses the communication that must be going on between the two men, but he has no idea as neither has actually made a sound or said a word. At that moment, Gibbs’ cell phone chirps and he answers with a curt, “Gibbs.” Then he nods significantly at DiNozzo and begins to stand. “On our way.”

“Looks like we caught a case,” DiNozzo tells Brenner, “so we have to run. Are you open tomorrow night?”

Brenner nods. Saturday night. He has plans but he will cancel them.

DiNozzo stands and backs away while Gibbs strides off without a word. “1900 hours,” he calls out, pulling his own cell phone out, “I’ll text you the address. Come hungry.” Then the man turns and lopes off easily to catch up with Gibbs, cell phone to his ear, speaking into it even before he is done turning away from Brenner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with Frank Brenner

At 7 PM the following night (nineteen hundred hours, as DiNozzo had said), Brenner finds himself knocking on the door of an apartment. Gibbs opens the door, smiles at him and ushers him in.

“Honey!” he calls, “Frank’s here!”

DiNozzo appears from the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist – not a girly apron but one that goes from the waist down to his knees, stark white, like the aprons that Brenner has seen the Iron Chefs wear on television. A kitchen towel hangs loosely over one shoulder.

“Hey Frank,” Tony smiles at him. “Jet, get him a drink, will you?” Then he disappears back into the kitchen.

Brenner looks around the apartment – wide open space, sparse but elegant furniture, a polished baby grand piano at the far end of the room by the windows, bookcases filled with books, a huge TV and hundreds of DVDs neatly packed into shelves around it. A heavenly smell permeates the entire apartment.

“You’re in for a treat,” Gibbs tells Frank with an easy smile, leading him into the kitchen, “Tony made you his famous lasagna tonight. Everything is handmade, the pasta, the sauce, everything. It’s so good. And I haven’t had it in a month because Tony’s training for the Nation’s Triathlon so we’ve been eating healthy,” Gibbs makes a face at the word, “which really sucks.”

“Stop complaining,” Tony says easily. “It’s good for you. Plus I know you cheat at lunch. Cheeseburgers three times last week?”

“I’ll be happy if I never have to see kale or quinoa ever again,” Gibbs shudders. “Wine or beer?” he asks Brenner.

Brenner stands and gawks at the two men.

“Frank, what would you like to drink?” Gibbs asks again.

“Um, wine?”

“Red or white?”

“Red?”

“Tony’s got something good breathing I’m sure,” Gibbs reaches into a cabinet for a wineglass and pours from a decanter, handing Frank the glass. He tops up Tony’s glass and Tony thanks him with a smile as he chops vegetables. “You want to sit in here while Tony finishes up, or come to the living room?”

“Uh…”

Tony looks up without pausing his machine-like chopping of cucumbers. “Jet, I think we need to go easy on the poor man. He’s looking shell-shocked.”

Gibbs tilts his head to one side and stares thoughtfully at Brenner. “You might be right. Here, Frank, take a seat, drink your wine, and we can talk when you’re ready,” Gibbs ushers him onto a stool by the island. “You need me to do anything, honey?”

“Set the table?” Tony smiles prettily at Gibbs.

“Sure thing.”

“Use the good china, Jet. We never get to use them,” Tony smiles at Brenner. “We don’t usually entertain here.”

“No?”

“Jet has an open-door policy at the house so that’s where people usually come to talk to him. We thought since you might not appreciate being interrupted again, we should have you here to the apartment where nobody ever comes.”

“I’m not sure what’s going on here. Yesterday, you were partners, professional partners. Today…?”

“Right,” Tony blows out a long breath. “Let’s wait till we’re all seated at the table together before we talk, yeah?”

Brenner nods slowly. He sits quietly, watching Tony assemble a salad. He makes the dressing in a mason jar, covering it tightly before shaking it hard, then tossing everything in a bowl, using his bare hands in a very professional manner. Tony has on a red US Marine Corp t-shirt stretched across a well-muscled chest, and tight black jeans. He is barefoot. His hair is tousled and unkempt, making him look younger than his years, and the almost-threatening physicality that he exuded the day before is conspicuously absent. Brenner marvels, as now Tony seems more like DiPietro. Not as fussy with his clothes or his looks as DiNozzo, not as physically threatening, a kinder, gentler version of the DiNozzo he met yesterday, yet much more confident, easy-going and less neurotic than DiPietro had been.

Tony washes his hands thoroughly at the sink and dries it on the towel over his shoulder before he washes and dries his knife, sliding it back into a butcher block filled with expensive looking knives. He throws everything else in the dishwasher. Then he cleans and sanitizes the island as well as the sink.

He grins wryly at Brenner. “So I am pretty much a neat freak,” he admits. “But not because I’m afraid Jet won’t love me if I’m not perfect.”

“At least not anymore,” Gibbs interjects, coming in. “Table’s set.”

“Thank you,” Tony smiles.

“So you two _are_ together?”

Gibbs holds up his left hand, where a plain wedding band sits on his ring finger. “Together, and actually married.”

Tony holds up his hand to show off his matching ring.

“They didn’t mention that at the trial.”

“Well,” Tony says hesitantly, “They didn’t ask us if we were married, they asked how long we’d been working together. Wouldn’t perjure ourselves. But, in general, we don’t actually tell people we’re married.”

“Or even in a relationship.”

“Yeah,” Tony nods, “as far as most people know, we only have a professional partnership.”

“And that’s the way we like it.”

They wait, watching Brenner expectantly. He looks at them, frowning. “So I wasn’t wrong. You two do love each other.”

The smile on Gibbs’ face tells him everything. It is a soft, loving smile as he looks at the green-eyed man across the room. “What’s not to love?” he says softly.

“Oh, stop,” Tony blushes, sipping his wine.

The timer goes off. “Dinner!” Tony announces.

Gibbs ushers Frank back to the living room and into a chair at the dining table. He goes back to the kitchen and brings the salad out. Tony brings a large pan of steaming and bubbling lasagna out and puts it on the hot pad Gibbs has placed on the dining table. He goes back and brings back a platter of garlic bread with melted mozzarella cheese. Then he goes back into the kitchen and returns, this time without the apron, and with the decanter of wine and a bottle of sparkling water with him. Gibbs brings Tony’s wineglass and a beer for himself, along with serving utensils, a hunk of parmigiano reggiano and a cheese grater.

Tony makes a plate with salad, a large piece of lasagna and a couple of pieces of garlic bread and places it in front of Brenner. “Eat up,” he urges, “there’s plenty more.”

“You just don’t want leftovers,” Gibbs accuses him, “to tempt you away from your turkey-quinoa-kale diet.”

“There’s salmon too,” Tony retorts. “I like salmon.”

Gibbs makes his own plate, and Brenner watches as Tony glares at him until he places a second spoonful of salad on his plate before he helps himself to a huge piece of lasagna, grating a liberal amount of cheese on top of his lasagna. When they all have food in front of them, Tony looks at Brenner.

“Right. So, you want to know how we fooled you in therapy?” he says bluntly.

Brenner nods. He tries the lasagna and cannot help the moan of pleasure at his first bite. “Omigod,” he says, his mouth full, “this is amazing.”

“I’m telling you, Frank,” Gibbs says as he digs in heartily. “Can’t beat Tony’s lasagna. Hell, anything that he makes is awesome but the lasagna, is especially great.”

Tony smiles at Gibbs, a fond, indulgent smile. “Thank you, Jet.”

“So, you guys don’t actually have issues telling each other things?” Brenner asks.

The two men look at each other and then look at Brenner sheepishly. “Nope, we don’t, sorry,” Tony says.

“But we used to,” Gibbs’ eyes convey his earnestness. “Ours has been a long and shaky path.”

“All the things we talked about at therapy, we could seriously have used you a decade ago, Frank,” Tony tells him. “Hell, five years ago, even.”

“We knew in order to convince a therapist we were for real, that we had to be the us from a while back.”

“The us that had so many issues, that couldn’t communicate, that hid important things from each other, that always fought, that in the end always broke up for some reason or other. So we had to channel the Tony and Jethro of old.”

“And we mixed in the us of now to convince you that we were worth saving.”

“Well, also because when we went to therapy, we knew we would have to do some dramatic things, have to make you think we need therapy urgently, and see us more often than a weekly appointment.”

“And we knew that would be hard on us, especially on Tony.”

“I drew the short straw on the issues front, so to speak.”

“So we weren’t completely faking the part about being hurt. Or concerned.”

Both men are silent now, just looking at Brenner, unsure of what to expect. Their rapid-fire explanation, given together seamlessly has his head spinning. This sudden onslaught of words and easy communication is completely different than their non-verbal communication of the day before. Not to mention the fact that Gibbs had been very close-mouthed and terse the day before, and seems to be more talkative and less uptight now, not just depending on DiNozzo to speak for the both of them. So very different. He seems like a completely different person today. They both do.

Brenner shakes his head and stares at Tony and Gibbs wordlessly. Gibbs and Tony look at each other.

“I think we broke him more,” Tony says softly, his tone filled with regret.

They both turn to look at Brenner again, and this time they look concerned.

Brenner tries to shake himself. “I’m just trying to absorb it all,” he finally stammers.

Tony nods, his eyes wide and serious, his expression one of concern. “It can be difficult when you first have to wrap your head around an undercover op, when it’s done,” he says seriously. “It’s a period of adjustment for everyone.”

“One time, after Tony was chained to a serial killer for days, he didn’t speak to me for almost a week,” Gibbs adds.

“It wasn’t just you, Jet,” Tony is apologetic, “I didn’t speak to Kate either. And I certainly refused to even look at Probie. It was a hard role to come off of.”

“I know,” Gibbs puts a hand on Tony’s on the table. “I’m just saying that it can be difficult, and that I understand. And you not speaking is always cause for concern.”

“Are you saying I talk too much?” Tony smiles.

“Too much is a strong term,” Gibbs smiles back.

“Fuck you, you like my chatter,” Tony’s tone is playful, teasing.

“I do, honey,” came the amused answer.

They quiet down, looking back again at Brenner.

“I don’t know,” Tony muses, “I think we may have made it worse for him.”

Gibbs sighs. “Give him a minute then. Eat your dinner, honey, or I’ll swipe the lasagna off your plate.”

Tony laughs, and the two men fall silent and focus on eating their dinner.

“So you’re training for a triathlon?” Brenner finally breaks the silence, picking his fork up and starting to eat again.

Tony looks at him, surprised at the non sequitur. “Uh, yeah.”

“He’s doing the Ultra Distance this time,” Gibbs says proudly.

“Is that the one that involves a whole marathon?”

“Yep. Gonna hurt, I don’t doubt,” Tony shakes his head. “I don’t know why I do this to myself.”

“Yes you do,” Gibbs grins at him.

Tony shrugs. “OK, maybe I do. But when I’m eating lasagna again, it makes me question myself.”

Gibbs laughs. “I look forward to the pasta-fest post-triathlon is all I can say.” They clink drinks, beer bottle to wine glass.

Finally, after they are done eating (Gibbs and Brenner help themselves to seconds, but Tony abstains), they push their plates back and Gibbs grunts approvingly. “Awesome lasagna, as always honey,” he tells Tony as he stands and takes Tony’s plate, leaning in to kiss the younger man’s lips. He stacks the dishes and takes Brenner’s empty plate away as well. “I’ll get the coffee going. Sit and relax.”

He disappears into the kitchen with the dishes. Tony looks at Brenner, again with concern in his eyes. “Are you doing better? With the whole undercover therapy thing?”

Frank sighs. “I don’t know. I guess so. It’s just so hard to take in.”

“What is? Maybe if you can tell us something specific, we can maybe help somehow?” Tony is earnest.

“Well, partly I can’t reconcile the two of you tonight versus the two men I met yesterday.”

Tony sighs. “Ah, the public Gibbs and DiNozzo,” he nods understandingly.

Gibbs returns, sitting back down at the head of the table. “Coffee’s brewing,” he says quietly.

“Frank’s having trouble putting together the us at therapy, the us today and the us from yesterday,” Tony tells him.

“Ah,” Gibbs nods. “Yesterday you met the bastard and the perpetual frat boy. We cultivate those images outside.”

“It’s kind of sad that people think we can still be the exact same people from all those years ago,” Tony says softly, “but it’s a great cover.”

“Nobody asks a bastard questions, they’re too afraid of me.”

“And nobody asks why the perpetual frat boy hasn’t settled down because they assume they know the answer.”

“But why don’t you let the people you work with know about you? Surely NCIS isn’t prejudiced against…?”

“Now hold up there,” Tony interrupts him. “NCIS is one of the most LGBT friendly organizations in the alphabet soup, and certainly in law enforcement.”

“We keep ourselves private for private reasons,” Gibbs continues.

“Partly, it is because we have been together for so long that we see no reason for anyone to know or care what we do with our time outside of work.”

“Partly, it makes work go smoothly – I bark and everyone jumps. DiNozzo included.”

“And that frees us up to conduct the investigations the best way we know how.”

“And partly, it’s because we’re selfish and don’t want to share our private time with anyone.”

“Wait, you don’t?” Tony looks inquiringly at Gibbs, who shrugs. “Really?” he smiles delightedly. “You are adorable, Jet!”

“Shut up, honey,” Gibbs’ words are accompanied by a loving smile.

“In all seriousness though, if we had told people from the start, they would have gone on such a roller coaster ride with us,” Tony says seriously. “We broke up quite a few times through the years.”

“Some really spectacular disasters.”

“Had other partners when we broke up.”

“Broke up because of other partners.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Tony says softly.

“I know,” came Gibbs’ gentle response. “I’m over it. Way over it.”

“I had a lot of growing up to do,” Tony says, very seriously. “Had to figure a lot of things out, had to understand why I acted the way I acted, had to make peace with all my fucking ‘inner demons’.” He makes a face, emphasizing the air quotes.

“Did you seek professional help?” Brenner asks.

Tony grins and shakes his head. “Not my style. Went through a lot of alcohol, cried a lot. Mostly, Jet helped by being there, even when we weren’t together-together. Lent me his ear and his shoulder. Gave me his honest opinions. Kicked my ass when I needed it. Pulled my head out of my ass if I got it stuck too far and too long.”

“We both had our own issues to figure out,” Gibbs says quietly, “our own inner demons to confront and get past. And we both tried to help each other out.”

Tony laces his fingers through Gibbs’. “It was worth it once we had it all figured out,” he says quietly.

“So you used all the drama and issues of the past for the therapy?” Frank is starting to grasp the situation.

“Yeah,” Tony says softly, “cause we really did have a lot to figure out, for quite a few years.”

“What about your relationship with your father? Truth or fabrication?”

Tony makes a face. “Truth,” he admits quietly. Brenner sees that Gibbs squeezes Tony’s hand comfortingly. “Anyway, let me go pour the coffee,” Tony says, standing up after squeezing Gibbs’ hand back.

“Still a prickly subject,” Gibbs tells Brenner quietly as he watches Tony retreat into the kitchen.

Brenner looks at the quiet sadness in Gibbs’ eyes, and he finally thinks he understands. He understands that these two men have gone through a lot together, and have somehow come through it and ended up together, stronger than ever.

“You don’t think you would share this version of you with your loved ones now?” he asks.

Gibbs smiles at him and sighs. “We talk about it sometimes,” he says. “In the end, neither of us really cares for all the damned questions that people will have. All the answers we’d have to provide. All the justification – for the secrecy, for our feelings for each other. For the past fifteen years. Neither of us wants to dredge up the past just so other people can be comfortable with us.”

“Are we talking about why we haven’t come out to people now that we’ve figured stuff out and gotten our shit together?” Tony asks as he comes in carrying a tray.

“Yep.”

“Did you already talk about the fact that I really don’t like talking about ‘things that matter’?” Tony smiles.

“I thought you could tell Frank that yourself,” Gibbs smiles back.

Tony sets the tray down and places huge mugs of coffee in front of Brenner, and Gibbs, and a regular sized mug for himself. There is sugar, milk, cream, hazelnut syrup, whiskey and bourbon on the tray as well. He also sets out bowls of tiramisu for dessert. “Wasn’t sure how you like your coffee, Frank,” he says. “So please, help yourself.”

Brenner puts sugar, cream and a generous shot of whiskey in his coffee. Tony hands the bourbon to Gibbs without being asked. He has already fixed his coffee with sugar, cream and hazelnut syrup.

“Why are you drinking a small coffee, compared to Gibbs’ and my gigantic mugs?” Brenner asks.

Tony grins wryly. “I have to get up really early to train,” he says, shrugging, “so I’m limiting my night time coffees so I can get to sleep. Have a date with a pool, a stationary bike and a pretty long run at 0400 tomorrow.” He says the time in military time, oh-four-hundred. He digs into his dessert, sighing as he eats.

“Then I get you all day,” Gibbs smiles happily.

“Yep. Get the training out of the way early so I have all day clear. We’re not on call, so Jet has some things planned for us to do.”

Gibbs grins. “It’s going to be a surprise.”

“The man always gets these ideas and then we’re off doing some weird shit on weekends,” Tony grins. “One time we went zip-lining at this course for SEALs. Cause Jet knows people, and a lot of people owe him favors. So man, it was the most amazing course! Fucking awesome time. I can’t wait to see what shit he’s come up with for us to do tomorrow.”

“But nothing too strenuous until after the triathlon. I don’t want you hurting yourself, honey.” The two men exchange grins.

“And is this part of the you that doesn’t like to talk about ‘things that matter’?” Frank grins at Tony’s enthusiasm about their plans for the following day, realizing that he has also cleverly deflected from answering a question he didn’t particularly want to answer.

“Yeah, well. That part is definitely true,” Tony admits.

“But you talk to Gibbs.”

“I do now,” Tony nods. “But we did have to go through some iterations of the same argument before I got it through my thick head that I could and in fact did talk to Jet about everything.”

“And that did help make me open up more to Tony. Just as you recommended and suspected, Frank.”

“Seriously, if we’d had you eight, ten years ago, maybe our path would have been cleaner,” Tony frowns thoughtfully.

Gibbs looks at him, amused, one eyebrow raised. “You think your stubborn DiNozzo ass woulda listened to anyone back then?”

“One can attempt to rewrite history,” Tony grins and shrugs.

“Only victors rewrite history.”

“I’d count this as a victory, wouldn’t you?”

Frank smiles at the interaction, sipping his coffee. “You two really have figured things out,” he says admiringly.

“Not without putting in years of work,” Gibbs says.

“We are sorry that you were deceived,” Tony says apologetically. “We didn’t know if you were the killer, and we knew we had to be convincing.”

“You were convincing,” Brenner nods, making a face. “Really convincing.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Tony is the best undercover operative in the country,” Gibbs says proudly.

“Maybe only the eastern seaboard,” Tony gives him a look.

“Those LA yahoos have nothing on you, honey,” Gibbs tells him.

Tony blushes and takes Gibbs’ hand. “Flatterer,” he says quietly.

“Point being, Frank, you were subjected to the best,” Gibbs’ voice has no inflection, and he turns his gaze to Frank, his blue eyes cool and calm, not needing to emphasize anything due to the truth of the matter. “So don’t blame yourself. Don’t question yourself. You didn’t miss anything. We showed you exactly what we wanted to show you. We needed you to believe, we knew what we had to do to accomplish it and we went ahead and did it.”

“Don’t start doubting yourself,” Tony continues. “It’s not on you that you didn’t catch on to us.”

“And, don’t forget, our act convinced Stowe, and his actions then led to his capture and incarceration.”

“He killed six people,” Tony said seriously.

“That we know of,” Gibbs adds thoughtfully. “And he almost got Tony.” The anger in Gibbs’ voice is real.

“You guys rescued me,” Tony interjects. “Nothing happened to me.”

“You were drugged!”

“I don’t even remember much of that whole night – not even the therapy, Jet. Don’t dwell on it,” Tony is calm and reassuring. “It’s all good. It’s better he took me than some poor innocent civilian. We were supposed to be bait, and that’s what happened.”

Gibbs sighs. “I know,” he says quietly. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

They look at each other in silence for a short moment, and this time Brenner can almost feel the waves of reassurance that Tony is sending to Gibbs, who nods and blows out a breath quietly.

“It seems a shame that you can’t share who you really are with people – your teammates, your friends? Does nobody know?” Frank asks curiously.

“After the Stowe op, a few people made us,” Gibbs makes a face.

“How did they take it?”

“Pretty well overall. We talk to a couple of them sometimes. Always away from work, of course.”

“And how do they like the two of you as you are together, as you have shown me tonight?” Frank asks.

“Ducky seems pretty comfortable with it,” Gibbs answers.

“Ducky likes the two of us like this,” Tony smiles fondly. “We should have Ducky for dinner again soon. Maybe even on a day when he gets his little brother out for the day. I make a mean cup of hot chocolate.”

Gibbs nods. “Fornell tries not to think about it,” he says. “I think I really hurt his feelings. He’s known me longer than you have, honey.”

“I know. I’m just glad he hasn’t tried to pin another murder on me,” Tony grins.

“He’d come around if you made him your lasagna,” Gibbs says.

“You think everything can be cured by my lasagna.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Tony laughs. “Fine, after the triathlon, I’ll make lasagna again and you can invite Fornell.”

Gibbs smiles happily. “Excellent solution.”

“I intimidated Bishop into keeping quiet, and we’ve never talked about it again.”

“Never?” Gibbs asks.

“Told her it was the end of the story after our conversation, and it still is,” Tony shrugs.

They grin at each other and then as one, turn back to Brenner. “Did talking to us help you at all?” Tony asks.

Brenner nods slowly. “Yes, I think so,” he says quietly. “Although part of me wonders if this, between you, is also an act. Since you were so convincing with the issues. But I can feel the connection between you. I know that sounds so new age-y, and totally not what I practice in my counseling sessions.”

“No, Frank,” Gibbs tells him, “this,” he gestures between himself and Tony, “this is no act. We’ve worked very hard to get here and we don’t share this with just anyone. Tony thought you deserved the truth, that you deserve to not have to keep wondering and doubting yourself. So that’s why we invited you here tonight.”

“You’re a really good therapist, Frank,” Tony tells him. “Don’t question yourself or your skills, or your methods, just because you had us fool you.”

“Tony is used to the consequences of breaking cover being an unpleasant and painful death,” Gibbs jumps in, “so again, he can fool anyone into doing and thinking anything. Don’t keep punishing yourself for falling for our act.”

“Also, keep in mind that we mixed in a lot of reality, past and present, into our story in order to convince you,” Tony says. “The best lies have a grain of truth in them. We’re good at what we do. So are you. Don’t let us change that about you. Keep doing what you do and help people, Frank.”

“We’ll do what we do to help people as well.”

Frank nods, and stares at his hosts. “Tell me, are you mandated to see a therapist after you are involved in a shooting incident?” he asks.

Tony and Gibbs give each other a look before turning back to Frank and nodding cautiously.

“Let me guess, you never have _any_ trouble convincing your agency shrink that you are fit for duty.”

Tony laughs, and Gibbs grins and nods.

Conversation turns to other topics, and after dessert they move into the living room, Tony and Gibbs on the sofa, sitting so close together that Tony is practically in Gibbs’ lap, their arms around each other, their bodies touching each other constantly, hand on a knee here, toe rubbing against an ankle there, hand on the small of the back here, fingers brushing through hair, all the touches seem so natural, unforced, and right to Brenner. Conversation topics change easily, from sports, to training for a triathlon, to the Stowe case, to being chained to a serial killer, and other things, and before long it is time for Brenner to leave.

Tony calls for a cab, as Brenner has had several glasses of wine, whiskey in his coffee, and a couple more single malt scotches during their after dinner conversation.

He thanks the two men for the lovely dinner and the interesting and eye-opening conversation.

“We are sorry for what we put you through,” Tony apologizes again.

“No, I understand why you did it, and I’m glad that Stowe was captured before he could harm anyone else. I’m beyond upset that my patients were targeted and murdered by him.”

“I hope we gave you some closure tonight,” Gibbs says.

Brenner nods. “You helped a lot. Thank you for taking the time and for your honesty with me.”

Tony grins at him. “Wow, and we didn’t even have to pay for all this time with you!”

Brenner smiles. “I do have some free advice. You should share this part of who you are, the you that you are now, this married unit that I got to see tonight, I think you would be very surprised.”

“We’re happy with how things are now,” Tony says. “We don’t need anyone to validate or affirm our relationship.”

“I understand that. I’m not saying that you would be sharing yourselves with your friends just for you, but I think your friends would benefit from seeing this side of the two of you.”

“How so?” Gibbs looks puzzled. “We’re just us.”

“Yes, but in my experience, healthy relationships are few and far between for people who work in law enforcement. Marriages tend to end in divorces. There are many rocky relationships, or blinders are used in order to survive the stress that working in law enforcement imposes upon a couple,” Brenner looks at them thoughtfully. “You two have gotten past all that – from what you told me, you had your issues, and you’ve worked through them – and what you have now seems to be a very solid relationship. I believe your colleagues would benefit from seeing the kind of example you two would set, as to how there could be an open, healthy relationship for even law enforcement officers.”

Tony looks surprised. He makes a face and looks at Gibbs, who shrugs.

“If you knew our track record, you wouldn’t want anyone to use us as examples,” Gibbs smiles.

“That may even be why your example would be helpful.”

Tony looks very skeptical. “If we work with a bunch of investigators who haven’t been able to figure out that we’ve been together for so long, I don’t really see a reason to tell them anything,” he says wryly.

“You two are incredibly good at projecting your public face,” Brenner says. “I saw it yesterday and I saw your interactions in court. Based on that, I would have sworn up and down that you weren’t in a relationship, despite the fact that I saw you two and felt your connection during your therapy sessions. And then, here you are today, most definitely in a loving and stable relationship. I don’t see how any of your colleagues would have had a chance to have any kind of inkling of the nature of your true relationship.”

Tony shrugs, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe. But I’m really not one for rocking the boat.”

“And neither of us like exposure,” Gibbs adds. “Make no mistake, if we meet again outside of this, on the street or on a case, you will not get this version of us.”

Brenner nods. “I understand. I thank you for your honesty, and for helping me understand how it was I misread you, or didn’t misread you. It’s confusing really.”

Tony grins. “All the best undercover ops are.”

“I am also sorry that Stowe drugged you and attempted to kidnap you.”

“You are in no way responsible for Stowe’s actions,” Gibbs says fiercely. “Don’t go down that rabbit hole.”

“And I say again, I’m totally fine. Really,” Tony is again calm and reassuring. “I don’t even remember what happened. I’m completely unharmed, and I don’t mind that I don’t remember those few hours. I’m thankful that he didn’t choose somebody else to take, because we wouldn’t have been able to stop him in time then.”

Gibbs presses his body against Tony’s and closes his eyes. Tony leans his head against Gibbs’ and gently tells him in a tone that makes Brenner think that he has said it many times before, “I’m fine, Jet. You got him in time. I’m right here.”

Gibbs nods, gently kissing the side of Tony’s neck.

“Thank you again,” Brenner shakes hands with both men. “Good luck on your triathlon.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Thank you,” he grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course MW actually does triathlons. I don't know what distance he does (and any of them is impressive), but I chose to make him do the Ultra Distance, which is the worse one. ;)
> 
> Just the epilogue after this. :)


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Tony and Gibbs' perspective. A bit of domesticity and some smut.

When they close the door behind Brenner, Gibbs looks at Tony. “You think we should tell the rest of the team about us?” he asks. They pause, staring at each other seriously for a moment.

“Nah!” they both say in chorus, and laugh.

Tony yawns, “I better clean up so we can get to bed. I have to be up at oh-dark-thirty on a Sunday that we’re not even on call.”

“Go on to bed,” Gibbs tells him. “I’ll finish up and run the dishwasher. I’ll be right in.”

“Thank you,” Tony smiles, puts his arms around Gibbs and presses his lips to Gibbs’, gently kissing him, slipping his tongue into Gibbs’ mouth, tasting coffee, bourbon, and lasagna. The kiss escalates, Tony devouring Gibbs’ mouth, pulling him close, grinding his erection against the older man’s crotch, hand on Gibbs’ ass under his pants, kneading gently. They pull away, panting, chests heaving. Tony presses a finger into Gibbs’ puckered hole, hand still in Gibbs’ pants, drawing an agonized moan from the blue-eyed man. “Don’t take too long,” he says suggestively.

Gibbs growls lustily and pulls his t-shirt off of Tony. “Clean up can wait,” he whispers as he latches on to Tony’s neck, sucking hard, intending to leave his mark. One hand begins playing with one of Tony’s nipples, sliding down lower and lower, palming the hard cock encased in denim. “I think you’re wearing too many things.”

“What are you gonna do about it, Navy Guy?”

Gibbs undoes the belt buckle, unbuttons the jeans and yanks them down, not bothering to unzip the pants, exposing Tony’s hard cock, the tip already beading with moisture. He circles the velvety shaft with only a thumb and index finger, stroking up and down, soft, teasing strokes that make Tony buck against him, begging for more contact, begging for his cockhead to be touched.

“Come on, Tube Socks,” Gibbs fists Tony’s cock, squeezing it, his own dick hard and leaking in his pants when Tony moans and shudders. He gently pulls and Tony finds himself being led into the bedroom literally by the cock.

He kicks his jeans off and yelps when Gibbs pushes him down on the bed. Gibbs tears his own clothes off and crawls up Tony’s body, nibbling, kissing, nipping, licking the golden skin up Tony’s thigh, around the base of his erection, licking the pre-cum off the top of the weeping cock before he swallows him down all the way, until the head of Tony’s dick brushes the back of his throat, and Tony arches off the bed with a muffled curse, thrusting himself even deeper down Gibbs’ throat.

“Fuck, Jet,” Tony moans, his fingers sliding into Gibbs’ hair. “Oh fuck, that’s so fucking good,” he croons, as Gibbs bobs up and down, sucking on his cockhead, running his tongue under the ridge, exploring the hole. “Oh fuck,” he breathes, when Gibbs pins his hips down with his hands and works on sucking him down whole, until his nose is buried deep into the curls at the base of his cock. He pulls up and repeats this move several times. “Oh fuck,” Tony says urgently, trying to regulate his breathing, feeling his orgasm beginning.

Abruptly, Gibbs releases his cock and his hips, smiling at him when he curses in protest. “So fucking close,” Tony complains.

“Blow me,” Gibbs tells him, “and then I want you to fuck me tonight.”

Tony flips them immediately, covering Gibbs’ body with his own, as he begins his own exploration of Gibbs’ pink tinged skin. Gibbs pushes his head down impatiently, his hips bucking. “Now,” he orders, before breaking off into a breathy moan as Tony complies, licking up the length of his dick, sucking gently on the cockhead before his lips wrap around and he takes the entire length deep into his throat, swallowing around it, and pulling up, his tongue swirls, rubbing against the ridge of the cockhead, and sucking hard at the end.

“You’re so good at that,” Gibbs moans, sloppily fucking Tony’s delicious mouth, “fuck yeah, honey.”

Tony reaches out a hand and Gibbs passes him the lube from the night stand, and, slicking his fingers, he presses a finger into Gibbs’ ass as he sucks on the cockhead. Gibbs arches his back, moaning helplessly as Tony finds his prostate and gently massages it in time to his mouth, and one lubed hand strokes up and down Gibbs’ erect shaft. Tony smiles, feeling powerful as Gibbs comes undone under him, reacting without thought, babbling obscene praises and heartfelt words of love in the same breath.

He feels Gibbs’ muscles begin to contract, hears the irregular breathing, the fast, panted moans, signaling the approach of his orgasm, but instead of stroking Gibbs to completion, he moves his hand to the base of Gibbs’ dick, holding tight, preventing his release.

He releases Gibbs’ cock from his mouth with an audible pop, and slows his stroking of Gibbs’ prostate.

“Fuck!” Gibbs swears, breathing hard.

“Shhhh,” he says soothingly as Gibbs’ hips buck, searching for Tony’s mouth and hands, “slow down. I have plans for you.”

Gibbs closes his eyes, and tries to slow his heart rate and his breathing, squeezing Tony’s fingers with his muscles, unable to stop his whimpering. Tony slides a fourth finger into him and he begins fucking himself on Tony’s fingers, begging now for Tony to fuck him.

Tony pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets, before lubing his hard cock. “How do you want me?” he asks.

“Don’t care,” Gibbs moans, pulling him down for a desperate kiss, grinding himself against Tony, “as long as you fuck me.”

Tony pulls Gibbs’ legs over his shoulders and drives himself deep into the older man in one strong thrust, swallowing Gibbs’ moan in a consuming kiss. He begins thrusting, long, slow thrusts, brushing Gibbs’ sweet spot every two or three strokes, smiling as Gibbs shuts his eyes, puts his arms over his head and grabs hold of the bars, moaning with every stroke.

Tony focuses his efforts on making Gibbs beg, switching the angle, speed and depth of his thrusts for as long as he can stand it. Finally when the only words out of Gibbs is a begged “Please,” repeated brokenly, and the occasional whimpered “Need to come, make me come,” Tony begins stroking Gibbs’ weeping cock in time to his thrusts, and this time thrusting deep and hard, striking Gibbs’ sweet spot decisively, over and over. Gibbs’ fingers are white-knuckled, gripping the bedframe for dear life, submitting completely to Tony’s hands, mouth and dick.

Finally, as Tony continues the assault, Gibbs is unable to hold back anymore. “Oh god, Tony,” he gasps, “Oh fuck. Fuuuuck,” his eyes are screwed shut, his entire being focused on the flashes of lightning in his body each time Tony hits his sweet spot, and his orgasm thunders through him. He yells Tony’s name as he comes, splattering both their chests and bellies with his hot come, while Tony continues to thrust deep into his body, continuing to nail his prostate until he has nothing left, but his body keeps quivering while Tony pounds away at him, as he searches for his own relief. Several hard strokes later, Tony groans his release, finally driving himself into his husband’s body in broken, uncontrolled thrusts, coming so hard that his vision greys as he fills Gibbs’ body with his seed. He collapses, gasping for breath, his torso next to Gibbs’, arm securely around Gibbs’ chest, their bodies still connected.

When Tony finally comes back to himself, Gibbs’ hands are stroking his hair and his back lazily. “You back with me, honey?” Gibbs asks.

Tony hums in satisfaction, turning his head and smiling at Gibbs, eyes still closed. He yawns. “I have to finish cleaning up,” he mumbles.

“Go to sleep, honey,” Gibbs tells him, wriggling out of his grip. “You’re the one who has to be up at oh-dark-thirty. I’ll take care of everything.”

The younger man hums a response, eyes closed, pulling him in for a kiss before he sighs and relaxes. Gibbs strokes his head, rubbing his scalp until he falls asleep. Tony has been exhausted every night – he has been getting up very early, training hard almost every day, only skipping the training on days when they are on a case 24/7 which is grueling in its own right.

Gibbs first stops in the bathroom to wipe himself down, grinning when he catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, with his kiss-swollen lips and his sex-tousled hair. At his age, he thinks, shaking his head to himself. He has no right to be as lucky as to be loved the way that he is, and to be fucked as well he is and as often as he wants it. He sighs and goes back to the bedroom.

He picks every item of clothing up off the floor and throws them into the laundry basket (grinning as he tells himself that he is _not_ going to fold dirty clothes to be put in the laundry basket, unlike some other people), then he rinses all the remaining dishware, loads everything into the dishwasher and runs it. He wipes down and sanitizes the island, the sinks, the kitchen counters, the dining table, and the coffee table. He looks to makes sure that Tony will be happy when he gets up and will not be compelled to clean before heading out for his training, turns all the lights off, hits the head, brushes his teeth and carefully crawls back into bed, not wanting to wake the sleeping man.

Tony immediately seeks his warm body, plastering himself to Gibbs in his sleep, nuzzling his chest sleepily before falling back into a deep sleep. Gibbs smiles, pulls the covers up around them, kisses Tony’s forehead, checks to make sure Tony has set his alarm, whispers a quiet “Love you,” before he yawns and succumbs to sleep. His final, gleeful thought as he falls asleep: he will be able to eat the entire half a lasagna left all by himself since Tony will go back to his healthy triathlon diet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. This was just basically smut. I had a version where I finished the story in 2 chapters, ending with just a bit of the domesticity, hinting at the smut. And the guys objected. They made me do it. ;)
> 
> No songs stood out during the writing of this fiction, although I always write with music on.


End file.
